For many, the name SSI conjures up a wave of nostalgia, and for good reason. In 1988, they unleashed Advanced Dungeons & Dragons: Pool of Radiance, a title that wasn't just a game; it was a digital gateway to the Forgotten Realms and a pioneering step in the evolution of computer role-playing games. The frequency of the camp animation in the game led my wife and daughter to affectionately (and perhaps a little teasingly) refer to it as the “camping” game whenever they see me playing.
While not the first AD&D video game, Pool of Radiance was the first to achieve a level of complexity that truly captured the feel of playing AD&D—earlier AD&D games, while commendable for their pioneering efforts within technological constraints, lacked the breadth and depth to fully replicate the tabletop experience. In that way, Pool of Radiance was the first of its kind.
As one of the inaugural entries in the revered "Gold Box" series, Pool of Radiance attempted to translate the intricate rules and lore of AD&D 1st Edition (note the incorrect but common internet myth: Gold Box games are not 2nd Edition AD&D) onto our nascent home computers. And while it succeeded in many ways, it wasn't without its share of goblin ambushes and, yes, some notable balance quirks. This game definitely has flaws—my suggestion is to love it for what it is and use workarounds to avoid the problems.
Groundbreaking Gameplay
Stepping into the ravaged city of Phlan, players were tasked with forming a party of up to six adventurers – rolling stats, creating visual icons, choosing classes and races straight from the Player's Handbook, and embarking on a quest to rid the land of a malevolent force.
Advanced Dungeons and Dragons is way Better Than Regular Dungeons and Dragons!
One of Pool of Radiance's greatest strengths was its adherence to the AD&D ruleset. Spell memorization, THAC0, Armor Class, saving throws – it was all there. For tabletop veterans, this was a dream come true, offering a faithful digital rendition of their beloved hobby. The tactical turn-based combat, played out on a grid, demanded strategic thinking and careful positioning. Successfully navigating a challenging encounter felt genuinely rewarding, a testament to the game's depth.
However, the Gold Box games, including Pool of Radiance, were not immune to balance issues. Some character classes, particularly early on, felt significantly weaker than others. Magic-users, for instance, often struggled in the initial hours with limited spell slots and fragile constitutions; most of what they would be doing in the slums is spamming Sleep spells, but not too long after that segment Sleep is all but useless. Certain enemy types could prove disproportionately challenging, leading to frustrating "save scumming" – a common practice for players navigating the game's unpredictable difficulty spikes.
Some (read: me) didn’t just psuedocheat—they cheated cheated. Presented with the choice of slagging through wildly unpredictable and imbalanced encounters, and losing lots of characters in the process, or circumventing at least enough of that to get through the game, I generally chose the latter. A few in-game options were to edit your character stats to the maximum possible (yes, please), create duplicate items by abusing the “remove from party” feature, and—oopsies—casting a stinking cloud that envelopes, but does not target, the hired lawful evil fighter with +1 plate mail, and then letting him die by the enemies’ hand so I can gain access to his inventory (this was suggested in a 1988 Dragon magazine). Nice. And for those of us who were more technically/programmatically minded, we could jump into a hex editor and edit the save game files to go beyond what the game design would allow. Careful, though, pushing it too far will break it.
The game's pacing certainly felt uneven. Periods of intense combat and exploration were often interspersed with lengthy stretches of travel and inventory management. While these elements contributed to the overall feeling of a grand adventure, they could sometimes bog down the momentum.
Spectacular EGA (That Means 16 Colors, Kids) Graphics
The game's presentation was groundbreaking for its time—remember that before this was “CGA,” 4 colors (black and white, puke pink and toxic waste cyan). While visually simple by today's standards, the overhead exploration map and the first-person perspective during combat were immersive and brought the tabletop experience to life. The detailed character portraits and the descriptive text accompanying encounters painted a vivid picture in the player's imagination. The screen design and presentation of gameplay were thoughtful, innovative, effective, and visually attractive.
